


Drabbles of a Camp Follower

by LyssaTerald



Series: Stories of the Inquisition [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 19:20:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5102684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyssaTerald/pseuds/LyssaTerald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every army has camp followers, even if there's no official prostitution. Some do it for coin, others do it because they want to help. This particular girl came to help because she could. Follows OC's POV from Haven to Skyhold and crosses with a few of the Herald's companions.</p><p>Written for the prompt: "Inquisition camp follower/companions."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing in this except my own imagination. Dragon Age belongs to someone else.

They hadn’t started as anything official and still weren’t despite Leliana’s cursory interest in seeing that no one abused them. The women and men came and went as they pleased, but everyone knew who they were. A smile and a few coins could buy their company for an evening. Sometimes it meant sharing a bed and taking physical comfort, other times it was just the company and a kind ear that were needed. Once, and _only_ once, someone had tried to buy a girl’s company for the night and had tried to beat her in the cottage not far from the camp.

He had called her “ _whore_ ” and bruised her so badly she hadn’t been able to walk for a week. Her screams had brought half the camp running, it seemed, and the only reason he had escaped the little cottage with his life was because the Commander had seen to it personally that he was taken into custody. He hadn’t survived the night after Leliana let one of her agents slip into the Chantry’s cells and slit his throat. No one tried it again and Leliana kept a closer eye on them. After that, the soldiers were a little more watchful of them and a little more protective, but that didn’t stop all of the sharp words or vicious looks that some of the merchants gave them.

Standing there, feet planted and arms full of the herbs Threnn had asked her to take to Adan, she stared at the red faced Seggrit and raised one eyebrow at him. “ _Really_ , Seggrit? Referring to me as a ‘two-bit whore’ isn’t going to make me inclined to fetch the materials from Harritt’s forge for you. My _name_ is Lyra. Try using it when asking me for something,” she snapped before she set off again.

At an even five feet in height, with red hair, delicate features, and the right curves, she _knew_ that she was attractive enough for most of the men that had come to fight for the Herald. She _had_ come to Haven to assist in any way she could, just like them, and if she earned a few coins now and again for the use of her body or the time she gave them, that didn’t make her a _whore_. It didn’t make her _lesser_. Those coins put food in her stomach and kept her supplied enough to _keep_ helping as both a runner and one of the girls who gave comfort to the men who would fight and die for them.

She didn’t see the way that a few of the soldiers eyed Seggrit, muttered among themselves, and then swept in on the merchant to box him into his little stall. No blows were actually thrown, but they made it clear that _she_ was one of _theirs_. If she _wanted_ to spend time with them and they gave her a few coins for it, then it was none of _Seggrit’s_ concern and if he didn’t like it, then he was welcome to _leave_ Haven or ignore the situation. In fact, they offered, they would help him pack up his things and be on his way if he was going to treat one of _their_ girls like that. As it was, _they_ were going to be keeping an eye on him from then on and taking their business directly to Harritt from then on.

Satisfied they had made their point, the three soldiers departed and left behind an even more red-faced Seggrit. When Lyra next came back through at a trot with another arm load of supplies for the Commander, she flicked him an irritated look and was pleased when he avoided her gaze all together. That night and the next two after that, those three soldiers made a point of requesting her company just to talk to her and, if the coins they gave her those nights was more than they usually gave, no one said anything.


	2. Death

Shivering in the cold and huddling in on herself a little more, Lyra flicked a glance out at the frantic activity of the camp that had been hastily erected after fleeing Haven. People were sorting supplies, setting up tents, lighting fires, and struggling to get food prepared. She would have been out there with them, helping, and she _had_ been until the pale, strange boy had gripped her arm and asked her to stay with the dying Chancellor. Now, his cold hand gripped in hers and the life slowly bleeding out of him, she could only be sorry that there was nothing more that she could do.

They hadn’t seen eye-to-eye. He’d been brusque and demanding when he talked to her in Haven, always insisting on trying to “turn you from your life of sin.” He had always merited that serving the Chantry was a better life than serving as a camp follower, better than “sleeping around for coins.” He hadn’t liked that she would always defend what she was doing, that she saw no shame in it. _She_ had appreciated that he cared enough to try, had always enjoyed the debate he brought when he talked to her.

Now, there was no strength in the hand that gripped hers and she could only sit there with him and hum what little of the Chant that she knew. He seemed to take comfort in it and haltingly added his own voice when hers faltered.

The brief cheers that went up had her looking out over the camp again and squeezing Roderick’s hand when she saw the Herald staggering in. Hands reached out to steady her and the Commander took her weight as she collapsed. Lyra looked at Roderick and smiled, tears beginning to form in her eyes. “The Herald made it, your Grace,” she said, voice thick. “You did it. You got us out.”

She barely made a response to that. A weak, “Mmm,” was all the answer she got. The hours blended together after that until her muscles ached from the cold and Roderick’s breathing became more labored. It wasn’t until the shouting between the Herald’s advisors began that she truly noticed the heart ache that seemed to permeate the rest of the camp. It was in the way that they hunched their shoulders and looked at each other.

When the song started, it was one that she joined in gladly. It was something that she had sung earlier in the night for Roderick and something that she had kept softly repeating, something that seemed to draw more strength for him even as his own strength seemed to slide away a little at a time. 

_Shadows fall and hope has fled_

_Steel your heart_

_The dawn will come_

_The night is long and the path is dark_

_Look to the sky for one day soon_

_The dawn will come_

_The shepherd's lost and his home is far_

_Keep to the stars_

_The dawn will come_

_The night is long and the path is dark_

_Look to the sky for one day soon_

_The dawn will come_

_Bare your blade is raise it high_

_Stand your ground_

_The dawn will come_

_The night is long and the path is dark_

_Look to the sky for one day soon_

_The dawn will come_

When the strange boy said, “Gone,” a little later, she put her head in her hands and wept.


	3. Quarters

Seeing Skyhold that first time had been like coming home. It was solid stone and rising towers. It was defensible and it _felt_ safe. The interior had been…less grand, but the vastness of the halls and the sheer number of them more than made up for it. The entire fortress needed a damn good scrubbing, but standing there in the snow and shivering to look upon it, no one had complained at the thought of how much work it would take. Somewhere along the way during the cleaning, rebuilding, cooking, running, and tearing down of rotten wood, Lyra and a few other women had been folded into the staff that was running Skyhold.

They still weren’t anything official, but they were being paid a wage that took away the question of how they were going to pay for things once Skyhold was settled. Ostentatiously, Lyra began tracking the duties and quiet conversations that she and the other men and women who had been camp followers were performing outside of what they had previously offered. Officially, it seemed they were runners, gardeners, and caretakers for the orphaned children. All of them, eighteen in total, still offered company in the night for those that asked it of them. She never saw Leliana, but wondered, privately, if it was something that the former sister had put together for them.

Five of the other women came together with her once the fortress was more in order and between the six of them they hunted out a suitable location that had quarters and a set of rooms that could serve the purpose they wanted them for. Standing in that dusty, cobwebby tower and looking at some of the rotten support beams, Lyra felt almost like she had a place of her own there. Tentatively, the other twelve split into two groups of six as well and followed their example. There was, however, still the matter of getting the spaces assigned to them.

It was Lyra who brought the request before the commander since they were still lacking in the way of a clear understanding about who did what when assigning Skyhold duties. Besides, if she was honest with herself, the Commander was the least intimidating to approach. Josephine with her noble ties and Leliana with her spies were _quite_ intimidating. The Commander was interested in the training and welfare of his men and since _this_ was for the welfare of some of his men, she reasoned it was better to ask him than the other two.

Lyra stood before his desk, hands folded behind her as she watched him blink at her, a deep blush crossing his face. For a man that faced death on a regular basis, she was surprised at how the request had taken him aback. “You…what?” he asked and Lyra had to fight a smile. It wouldn’t do to make him any more uncomfortable.

“We are requesting that the set of rooms and neighboring tower near the eastern battlements be assigned to us for convince and comfort of those we may be servicing at night,” she said carefully and the blush deepened.

“You and these…other…women are…”

“No,” she said flatly.

“No?”

“We are not whores prostituting ourselves out to anyone who looks twice at us, Commander. There were soldiers who were _good_ to us back in Haven and it is for their benefit that we have chosen to continue offering these additional services if requested. There are others who will also continue to offer these services, but we six would like something more private and comfortable than a tent or a wall.” She stopped there because she was almost certain that if she kept going she’d possibly break the Commander.

He cleared his throat and found a relatively interesting bit of ceiling to stare at over her shoulder while he fought to control the blush. “These quarters are near the barracks for a few of my units. Does that…are they…”

“Yes,” she answered. “Not all of them, but some.”

“And you won’t be endangered from…this?”

There was a pause as she digested the question and the concern behind it. “In total, there are eighteen of us who are continuing in these services despite drawing income as Skyhold staff now. There are others…many others…who have chosen to remain within the main encampment for their own reasons. We haven’t been forced into this and the reason that we want to remain unofficial is that we want to be able to walk away if it comes to it. Those of us who are staying within Skyhold have agreed upon some basic rules,” she said, a little uncomfortable to be revealing so much.

The Commander’s gaze fell on her again and the blush had mostly faded as he considered the logistics. “How many soldiers total? And what are these rules?”

She resisted sighing. Really, it was her own fault for even mentioning it, but he was their Commander and had every right to know. “There are between thirty-five and fifty soldiers that we’ve agreed upon and that mostly depends on unit rotation as well as personal preference. The rules…” here she hesitated because there was still some haggling and protesting going on between them. “…we’re still trying to work a few things out, but we have worked out a few basics. There are three groups of six and there will be no more than three women or men from each group available on any given night. Checkups with the healers when we can manage it or the healers have spare time, but nothing that will interfere with their active duties.”

She looked away, then, remembering the incident that had brought them to Leliana’s attention in the first place. “Meeting someone somewhere isolated is forbidden and to be reported immediately. If we’re uncomfortable with the individual making the request, we’re allowed to ask to switch or to refuse outright. Leaving or staying is an individual choice and won’t be influenced one way or the other. All bruises will be inspected or treated and if someone tries to…play rough…with any of us without consent, they will be immediately reported and banned from future services.” She didn’t add that there probably wouldn’t be a need to make the ban public knowledge because there was only a small chance that that individual would live past dawn.

He was studying her, when she glanced back at him. “You have certainly thought this out for not being anything official,” he said.

Lyra half-smiled at that. “You were there when the last girl was almost beaten to death. That’s a damn good reason to lay out ground rules so everyone knows the limits,” she answered.

“And a very good reason to draw back from it, too.”

She shrugged and the smile slid from sight. “Not everyone can hold a blade or stomach killing. Most of us came to help in the ways we can and if that means offering company to a select few soldiers to keep reminding them there’s more to life than killing, it’s what we’ll keep doing alongside our other duties.”

“I…see,” he said slowly. “The quarters you want are yours if you maintain them. The same goes for the other groups should they decide to select similar, uninhabited accommodations. Should someone have an issue with that decision, you may send them to me and I will see that the situation is fairly resolved.”

“Thank you, Commander,” she said and turned to leave.

Her hand was on the handle when he said, “It occurs to me that you didn’t state your name. May I ask it?”

She blinked and looked at him over her shoulder. Knowing what they did about her, most people didn’t ask her name. They called her by an endearment or someone else’s name altogether. Oh, they _knew_ her name, had to if they wanted to make the request of her, but they never used it after the first few times she spent time with them. This was…different. He was asking so that he could identify her _by name_ in the future. “Lyra,” she said softly and wondered if he knew the significance of that question.

“Thank you, Lyra,” he said absently, already lost to the paperwork in front of him. So, it was unlikely he knew the significance, then.

The casual use of her name made her heart squeeze painfully. No one had done that for her since…well, since before. She turned slightly, smiling slightly as she said, “Commander.” She waited until he looked up to add, “You and the Herald’s advisors or companions may also make the request of us.” She fled then as the blush returned full force and he could have sworn he heard her laughing as she vanished.


	4. Underwear Thief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written also for a second prompt: "Sera being Sera: steals everyone's breeches and panties."

It wasn’t the sight of Sera with a bow and arrow that stopped her in her tracks. _That_ was a common enough sight. But the bit of clothing attached to the arrow? That was unusual. The other thing that was unusual? Sera was firing her arrows at the main gate in the courtyard.

She had to count to a slow ten before she admitted she was too curious to pass the scene by even with the potions she had been sent for by Arcanist Dagna. Turning around, she saw Sera fire another arrow into the main gate from her place on the battlements. It was early morning so the only other people in the courtyard were a few soldiers on patrol and the patrons who were just stumbling out of the tavern before it closed. The soldiers weren’t doing much patrolling as they stared in doe-eyed wonder at the clothing that was being fired into their gate, too stunned to report it like they probably should.

For the most part, it was still too dark to see what Sera was firing into the gate other than knowing that it was clothing, _had_ to be clothing from the shape and sway if it. The potions jangled in her basket when she took a step forward and then reluctantly admitted the potions were more important than the antics of the prankster elf. Besides, the clothing would still be there in an hour or so when she returned from delivering the potions and taking the list for the next request. Plus, she could make the short detour through the main hall that would take her to those battlements and she could get a closer look at what sort of prank Sera had pulled this time.

She’d been wrong. It had taken her _two_ hours to get the next list out of the eccentric Arcanist-and narrow the items to things she could _actually_ retrieve. It was, at least, far brighter than it had been. When she stepped out onto the battlements, she paused to see three of the other women she shared quarters with. Sera was long gone, but others were starting to make their way through the beginning of the day. The three women were huddled together, giggling, and speaking in soft tones. A flicked glance at the gate had her covering her mouth to stifle her own giggles.

There were dozens of undergarments pinned to the gate each with a little piece of paper attached to it. Squinting, she could just make out that there were little pieces of paper with large block letters that were mostly visible. She leaned over the ramparts and was able to make out most of the writing. Some of the undergarments were no more out of the ordinary than anything else and a few that were vibrantly colored, but there were a few that were…unexpected. There was a set that had fabric hanging down to fit the penis into and set against a snake-like background. The paper for that one read: Cole. Another was a purely heart-shaped pattern that belonged to Vivienne. The set that belonged to Varric seemed to be made purely of fennec fur, with the fur left in the genital area almost like pubic hair. There was also a set of pink, ruffled knickers that belonged to…Solas?

She howled with laughter then. No matter whose knickers were whose, it was too damn funny of a prank. Seemingly drawn by the noise, the Commander’s door opened and he stepped out, frowning at them. When he looked at the gate, he turned a vibrant shade of crimson and muttered, “Sweet Andraste.” She had to flee, then, for fear she would burst out into laughter again.

Later, she had to fight to keep a straight face when Varric made a passing comment on Solas’ choice of undergarments and Solas made a cutting reply. That night, she sent Sera a very large piece of cake as a thank you.


	5. Flower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because sometimes, during a war, people die and friends hurt for it.

Peals of laughter. A kind smile. Snow. Embrium growing in the garden. The scent of fresh bread from the kitchen. Everything was too sharp that day. Everything pricked the memories until it hurt too damn much.

Lyra was sweaty, she was smelly, and she ached. She had pilfered a bottle of wine from the stash that she and the other women kept for their soldiers and then she had found a dark corner on the third floor of the tavern and hidden there. Her hands had shaken so badly when she opened the bottle that she had spilled some on herself after getting the cork out. It was one of the cheaper brands and she had coughed at the taste as it went down, but the sharpness of the taste had matched the aching of her heart so she had kept drinking it until she was sobbing too hard to do more than hold onto the stem of the bottle and curl up in her corner. Below her, the conversation of the other patrons rose and fell with general chatter, but she didn't hear it, couldn't.

_Rylie. Conner. Stefan._

Three names. Three soldiers she had known well. Three soldiers that had been theirs. Three men that hadn't returned because bandits had torn through their squad when they defended the small caravan.

The Commander had taken the responsibility of seeing that the news was passed onto their families, or those that had families. Stefan had had a mother looking after his daughter. Conner had had elderly parents who had come with him to Skyhold. Rylie hadn't had anyone except them. Except, the Commander hadn't thought to tell them, the women that had looked after those soldiers. They had found out from their other grief-dulled soldiers when the requests had come from all of them nearly a day after they returned.

There had been too many to entertain at separate locations so they had all come together in the women's quarters on the level where the floor was open and there were benches to sit on. She could remember the sharp grief and the dull grief, the raging grief and the soft grief that those she had spent the evening with had expressed. They had plied the soldiers with wine until they slept and then they, the women, had drawn together to sit in silence and, for those that could stand it, curl up together. Lyra hadn't been one of them. She had left them when she was sure they were asleep and sought running work. No one had asked about her red eyes or the tear tracks. There was hardly anything that went unnoticed by Skyhold's staff when it came to their own.

That had been hours ago. Now, the wine was half gone and the grief had only sharpened into tearing claws. She had shifted position at some point to wrap her arms around her legs and rest her chin on them. She stared dull eyed into the other corner.

"Little rips where they should be, parts no longer whole. Grief where comfort should be. Can't look at them, don't want to remember, but remembering is all there is not," came a soft voice.

Her gaze turned automatically to him where he was still half hidden by she shadow of the stairs that led to the battlements, but there was no mistaking him. The strange boy. Cole. One of the Herald's companions. The one that had asked her to stay with Roderick at the end. She hadn't thought to ask why then and it didn't occur to her to ask in that moment, either. He took a step towards her.

"Red flowers help, but today they hurt. Helping hurts, but not helping hurts more," Cole told her and heat prickled across her face as the tears came again. "Rylie. Conner. Stefan. Dead and dying, blood bright across the snow. It wasn't your fault, it wasn't anyone's fault." Lyra buried her head in her arms as the words lanced through the wound. "Plant the embrium for them, too."

Slow, broken, aching sobs escaped her as her heart squeezed. Every moment shared with them, every wickedly soft smile, the halting and hesitant words of that first request, their defense of her in Haven. Better and worse, too raw for the memories to come just yet.

"Forget."

Something warm washed over her, dulled the sharpest edges of the grief, pushed back at the mem-

" _No!_ "

She pulled back, closed in on herself, held tightly to that sharp pain and kept the memories. No, she thought. Soft footsteps came closer, then.

"I...no...that didn't work. Forget. Let me try again," Cole said.

 _No!_  She resisted that warmth and gentle pull. Can't forget, won't forget, don't forget. Embrium for remembrance. Red for the blood. Soft petals for the soft smiles. Bare stalks for the stripped lives. Flowers for the rebirth, the reminder that life goes on. One for each life lost to her. Two in the gardens already, three more to join, more before the war was ended.

"Forgetting in unkind," he said softly and there was a gentle thump beside her when he sat down. "It makes it easier, but it is unkind."

He didn't touch her while she wept, didn't touch her while the grief blazed white hot, but the presence of another was...enough. The strange little tunes he hummed between the sobs were enough and, when she had no more tears left to give, the quick fluttering fingers tucking her hair behind her ear were enough.

Cole was gone when she finally had enough strength to move beyond that corner. The wine was left behind and the tears were dried as she took up her duties again and though the embriums were planted and no one but she and the strange boy knew their meaning, it was enough.


	6. Officially Official

Company Girls and Company Boys. Company _Boys_ and _Girls_. Standing there with her back pressed to the stairway’s rough, stone wall and her arms wrapped around her own waist, she reflected on how much she hated those particular names. It made them sound _official_. It made them sound _easy_. It made them sound _cheap._ It stripped something out of what they were offering. Their soldiers had started it simply as a way to refer to them, the men and women that kept them company and shared a bed with them when needed. There had been nothing malicious about those words, those _names_ , when it had started, but it hadn’t stayed that way.

Men who weren’t welcome to their beds or their company had sneered it at them, had turned it into an excuse to harass them and to claim ignorance in the face of their accusations. A few of the other women had come dangerously close to being raped, cornered and isolated as they had been. Had it not been for the ground rules established in the beginning…she shied back from the way those thoughts were twisting. They had the rules and that was what mattered. Those women had been safe, in the end, and the Commander had quietly dealt with the men who had made the attempts to press attention where it was unwanted. Two women had been settled into work elsewhere in Skyhold and another had left the Inquisition all together, but the rest of them…those that had stayed together and continued to offer comfort and company to their soldiers…they’d come together and discussed the possibilities.

Collectively, they _knew_ that their soldiers curtailed, where possible, the behavior of other males and females that would have pressed unwanted attention upon them, but they also knew it wasn’t something that could go on. The Inquisition needed its soldiers at their best and as undistracted as possible. To let it continue was inviting something ugly to grow between men and women who should have been able to trust each other implicitly.

Wasn’t that why she had been sent to the Spymaster’s tower?

Still, she hadn’t been able to force herself to complete the walk up when she had heard the Commander’s low rumble as he spoke to the Spymaster about…well…about _them_.

“The men fought well at Adamant. They trusted each other, especially those that are…well… _enjoying_ …ah…the company of the…ah…select men and women who offer…such things,” he said quietly, but Lyra could still hear him over the chirping of the crows and the gentle shuffling of the Spymaster’s agents who were present. “Is it possible to expand that… _interest_ …beyond those specific few companies? I would see our soldiers fighting at their best and if this is something that works…”

She shouldn’t have been surprised the Inquisitor’s advisors conferred about different matters outside of the Inquisitor’s presence, but it did. It didn’t surprise her that the Commander had noticed how much better _their_ soldiers fought because there was better morale and an easier sense of trust.

She flicked a glance at one of the Spymaster’s agents that paused to look at her as he came up the stairs. They traded easy, quirked smiles, and she felt the unease melt beneath the familiar regard that the agent was giving her before continuing on his way up. That easy rapport had existed between the Spymaster’s agents and the other men and women like her for a while now, almost like there was something unspoken passing between them. The agents had been watching out for them where the soldiers couldn’t and took what tidbits and rumors they collected to add to their own reports. And wasn’t that why she was there, in the tower, at that moment?

Being “officially _un_ official” was turning into something more dangerous than any of them were comfortable with, but neither could they walk away from what they were doing while it did some form of good for the other men and women who were risking their lives to fight the Darkspawn Magister.

They had chosen a name: Company’s Comfort. And they had decided to see if the implicit offer that the Spymaster _seemed_ to be offering was what it appeared. Becoming “officially _official_ ” has seemed a prudent decision. It would bring them a form of legitimacy that would curtail most of the unwanted advances and lend credence to the duties they had already assumed. That still didn’t make it any easier to be the one to deliver the scroll that contained the report they had sent her with.

If the Spymaster didn’t acknowledge what they were asking…well…the answer to that question wasn’t going to be found in the stairwell listening to the quiet murmur of voices in the tower. Another agent passed her and she returned the nod before she turned to follow them up the rest of the stairs. She waited just long enough for the agent to deliver their own report and break away from the Commander and Spymaster before she snapped off a runner’s bow and presented Leliana with the tightly rolled scroll.

“This week’s report from the Company’s Comfort, my lady,” she offered.

For a long moment, she was almost certain the report would be rejected, but then Leliana’s lips curved slightly as her fingers closed around the scroll. “Thank you, Lyra,” she said. “If convenient, please see that someone checks in on Warden Blackwall tonight. He has been unusually withdrawn.”

“As you say, Spymaster,” she answered. Lyra gave another sharp runner’s bow before she flashed an impish smile at the Commander’s slightly surprised look. The way he flushed softened the look into something of a real smile before she turned and departed back down the stairs.

She almost couldn’t believe how flawlessly the offer had been accepted, how _easy_ Leliana had made it to transition into something safer, but then, she reflected, the Spymaster had always known how they worked. Perhaps being officially _official_ would work better than any of them had hoped.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the section of the prompt requesting: "Does someone (Seggrit. It's Seggrit. I hate him) treat her rudely, and some of the others explain to him that he's lost his privileges and better not even talk to her again? "


End file.
